


The Language of Flowers

by inbox



Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout: New Vegas
Genre: Established Relationship, Fallout Kink Meme, Floriography, Fluff, Language of Flowers, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-16
Updated: 2014-12-16
Packaged: 2018-03-01 18:07:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 341
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2782589
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inbox/pseuds/inbox
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Floriography: the lost cryptic language of flowers. His constant gifts of flowers and greenery, meanings left unspoken.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Language of Flowers

He brought him flowers. Well, sometimes flowers. Sometimes he came home with a knot of cut grass that made the kitchen smell green and clean. A cactus, some tiny thing with prickles barely sharper than fuzz, carefully potted into a bright red mug. A big handful of wheat that draped against the window in his little office, dropping seeds that he picked up from his papers with a licked finger, crunching the raw seeds between his back teeth. A circle of woven straw, the strands unbroken as it got nailed up over their bed when he'd finally acquiesced to putting on a ring and filling out some spectacularly dry legally binding paperwork at the NCR office.

Arcade didn't think much about it. As far as he saw it, Craig was just... surprising in some regards, inclined to romance in way that he personally wasn't. The dried broc flowers in the jar on the table, in just the right spot to get knocked over by the Shady Sands Gazette every week when he flipped to the page of boxing results... Craig. The little painting of yellow tulips, barely bigger than his palm yet somehow worth enough money that they'd nearly torn the house down arguing about how much he'd paid... that was Craig as well. It was, he figured, his thing. For a man with such hard eyes and a mouth not accustomed to smiling, Boone was surprisingly soft behind closed doors. Arcade still felt a faint pride at being one of the few to see that side of him and, conversely, be the one to hold his leash. 

When Boone came home to their vine-choked house high on the hill, footsore and tired after months on the road, he always returned with a bag full of pieces of cedar and salvaged colour plates of honeysuckle and spearmint and delicate dog roses on heavy paper yellowed with age. He gave them to Arcade and kissed him and said that he was glad to be home, in more ways that words could say.

**Author's Note:**

> grass: submission  
> cactus: endurance  
> wheat: success  
> unbroken straw: a strong union/partnership/marriage  
> yellow tulips: hopelessly in love  
> cedar: strength  
> honeysuckle: devoted affection  
> spearmint: sentimentality  
> dog roses: pleasure and pain  
> broc flowers: choose your own meaning!

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Still Life with Love](https://archiveofourown.org/works/9370883) by [TinyFakeFanficRock](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TinyFakeFanficRock/pseuds/TinyFakeFanficRock)




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